Deeper than Crying
by Miri
Summary: It's just depressing.


**Deeper than Crying**  
  
Kyle Valenti. He was the second person I met when I moved to Roswell, New Mexico.   
  
Stuck-up jock.  
  
Those were the first words that popped into my mind when he introduced himself. He sat beside me in our Economics class.   
  
"Hi, my name is Kyle. Welcome to Roswell. You're sitting in my seat."  
  
Five minutes of silence, and then a smirk on his quirky mouth. He took the chair beside me, and said nothing else to me for two weeks. Guys like that were a dime a dozen, I thought. Who needed him? Certainly not me. Hell, he hadn't even asked my name. Jerk.  
  
I made few friends by the end of three months attending West Roswell High. Actually, the total number was two, not including Kyle. Isabel Evans, she was nice to me. She sat with me at lunch, offering a load of relief. I clearly had no one else to sit with. Pam Troy, she followed me around the halls every chance she got, dishing the latest gossip. I hated gossip. I disliked Pam. However, I hadn't many options and beggars can't be choosers. She did make me curious about that Liz Parker girl, Pam never shut up about her. Always yammering on about how Liz used to be her friend, but then became this 'like total weirdo freak' hanging with derelicts like Michael Guerin. Michael was cute, but he wouldn't give me the time of day.  
  
School ended. An extremely boring summer lay out in front of me. Isabel was way preoccupied with 'something'. None of my business, nonetheless she had no time for me. I couldn't handle Pam anymore. God, she was annoying. So, I got a job filing papers and answering phones.  
  
In the sheriff's office.   
  
Sheriff Valenti was nice; he often brought me fresh steaming coffee from that little dive down the street, the Crashdown Café. Sometimes he'd even sit and drink a cup with me. He told wonderful stories, some from when he was a kid and his own father was the sheriff, some about the crash. I didn't believe a word of it, but I loved to listen. Aliens? Please.  
  
Kyle walked into the station on a Thursday morning in early July. He looked better, his hair didn't have globs of grease in it, and his shirt showed off his muscles. I didn't mind looking, nor was I shy about letting him notice me notice him.   
  
"What are you doing here, Kyle?"   
  
"I'm here to see my dad."  
  
The sheriff walked in at that moment, taking Kyle by the arm in an affectionate way, almost as if he hadn't seen him in months, and whisking him out the door. He called out a quick good-bye as he left. My mouth hung wide open. How could that wonderful man have fathered that unfriendly boy?   
  
The next time I saw Kyle was (surprise!) the next day. To my greater surprise, he asked if I'd like to be shown around town. I pointed out that I had lived here for four months by this time, but he insisted that it needed to be shown from a local's point of view. I consented.   
  
We had a great time. We walked around the entire town, taking us the whole day. I had enjoyed spending time with Kyle. I had enjoyed it a lot. Thought I couldn't help feeling that the only reason he'd asked me in the first place was at the request of his father.   
  
We spent a lot of time together over the next few weeks. We talked about absolutely everything. I told him all about New York, and how drastically different it was from Roswell. I told him all about my parents, how my mom had decided New York held too many memories after my father had died.   
  
He told me about his and Liz's relationship. He told me how it felt after she'd dumped him, she'd been his first real girlfriend. He told me about ditzy Vicky Delaney, how she'd never really cared about anything other than sex. I was surprised to learn that there was a male on this earth that didn't appreciate a chick who thought of nothing other than having an orgasm. He told me that his 'type' was short, blond, and petite. That saddened me a little, I was tall, an inch taller than Kyle, redheaded, and thick.   
  
So, I wasn't his type. Big deal. I'd get over it. And for a while there, I was content just being his friend.   
  
The contentment didn't last.  
  
By the second month in our relationship, I had stronger feelings for Kyle than any other person I'd ever met. I might have been in love. Maybe it was lust. Who cared? Certainly not me. I lived for the time we had, and longed for him when he was gone. It was addiction, pure and simple.   
  
The big question was, did he feel the same way about me?  
  
Sadly, no.  
  
How can I be so sure, you ask? Simple, I'm not his type. For all the goodness I'd seen in him, pure vanity stayed deep rooted in his being. Oh, it's not his fault. I didn't resent him for having taste. No, not at all. I just wished he'd see something in me that said, 'Throw away your usual expectations. Pick the mediocrity!'   
  
Wishful thinking, I suppose.  
  
Junior year began too quickly. I wanted the summer back. I ate lunch with Kyle every once in a while. He invited me to sit with him and his friends once. Big mistake. They spent the entire lunch whispering behind my back. Kyle's face colored a deep red. I could only guess what fat jokes were being told at my expense. Afterwards, Kyle was apologetic. I dismissed his apologies, and steered clear of 'the boys'.  
  
Wait, I've made a mistake. I've just described a jerk, haven't I? Well, don't be disillusioned. He has his faults, just as I have mine. Who doesn't? He is a good guy. Really.  
  
Still, despite the fact that his friends hated me, and the late football practices he endured, we stayed close. We always found time to do something. I started feeling less for him in the romantic way. Accepting the fact that we would never be. The pain dulled.   
  
Until he got a girlfriend.  
  
I hate her, I hate her, I hate her. I hate with every ounce of my soul. She's sweet, pretty, smart, athletic, and adorable. Everyone loves her. I hope to god she chokes.  
  
Did I mention she's a cheerleader?  
  
I'm doomed.   
  
  



End file.
